


The Answer Lies With You

by BlindSwandive, LadyShadowphyre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Asexual Sam Winchester, Background Dean Winchester, Background Raphael (Supernatural), Canon-Adjacent Arson, Canon-Compliant Character Death (Jessica Moore), Castiel (supernatural) has anxiety, Chuck Shurley is Castiel's Parent, Dean Winchester (mentioned) - Freeform, Discussions of Severe Mental Illness, Gabriel (Supernatural) (mentioned) - Freeform, Gabriel (Supernatural) is Loki, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Language of Flowers, M/M, Mentions of Abuse of Younger Siblings By Mentally Ill Older Sibling, Mentions of Perceived Attempted Suicide, Mentions of Psychological Trauma, Michael (Supernatural) has DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder, No Actual Attempted Suicide, Post-Stanford Era (Supernatural), bee stings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 04:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20501180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive/pseuds/BlindSwandive, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: When Castiel Engelstrom stumbled into Sam Winchester's flower shop instead of his brother Gabriel's tattoo parlour next door, Sam hadn't seen him since college the night of the dorm fire. As the two talk, new information comes to light - both about the fire and about each other - and they discover that maybe a different sort of flame is ready to be rekindled.





	The Answer Lies With You

**Author's Note:**

> Created for the SPN Asexual Mini-Bang on tumblr.  
Written for the SPN Fluff Bingo Square: Old Flame AU  
Written for the SPN Bad Things Happen Bingo Square: Burns  
Written for the Sam Winchester Bingo Square: Asexual  
Written for the Good Things Happen Bingo Square: Accepted Apology

**J** ULY WAS THE least busy month of the year for Sam Winchester, owner and sole full time employee of Spreadin' Roots Botanical Arrangements For All Occasions. February was obviously one of the busier months, but not the busiest as it tied with April (Easter) and May (Mother's Day) in second place. Pride of place as his busiest month was June, the so-called wedding month, and the downswing in business during July usually left Sam feeling a little bored. It was no coincidence that his brother, Dean, tended to drop into the shop more to "keep him company" in July, though at least after both brothers had witnessed a young woman approach the shop, stop to stare at the police cruiser parked right in front of the door, and walk hurriedly away, Dean had sheepishly agreed to stop showing up while he was driving the regulation black-and-white.

Not that Sam would ever actually turn his brother away. Dean was the main reason Sam even had Spreadin' Roots at all, literally and figuratively. The name was partial homage to Dean and his love of Led Zeppelin, but it was also a giant "fuck you" to John Winchester and the man's constantly moving his family all over the country out of paranoia, denying his sons the stability they had desperately needed growing up in the wake of their mother's death. When Sam had been accepted to Stanford, the fight between him and John had been epic, ending with Sam storming out with forty dollars and a packed duffle to the sound of John's ultimatum that if he walked out that door he wasn't welcome back. To his surprise, Dean had caught up to him twenty minutes later in the family car with a black eye and a thunderous expression, and the two had driven out to California together.

Seven years later and the two were still thicker than thieves. When Dean had gotten recruited to the police force for helping break up a violent bar fight near campus, most of their friends had thought for sure Sam would join him, or at least finally declare that his major was pre-law. Dean had been the only one to understand and support Sam's choice to major in botany and horticulture without question, knowing Sam's reasons without him ever having to explain. Dean had also co-signed on the loan when Sam bought the shop, much to the dismay of half the precinct. He had been the only one not surprised by how well the flower shop had taken off under Sam's careful management of funds and gentle hands tending to and arranging the wide range of plants he offered for any occasion a customer could think of. Dean, and his perpetually romance-challenged partner Victor Hendrickson, were probably by far his most frequent customers, but they weren't his only ones by a long shot. It was just sort of easy to forget that in July though when Dean's face was the one he saw at the door more times than not.

It was not Dean at the door, however, when the otherwise quiet Thursday afternoon was interrupted by the jangle of the bells above the opening shop door. The man who entered could best be described as frazzled, dark hair as mussed and ruffled as the tan overcoat he had on over his suit and blue tie loose and turned around backwards. As Sam watched, he scrubbed both hands over his face and back through his hair, taking a couple of deep breaths before looking around the shop.

Sam felt his cheeks heat when the man caught sight of him and startlingly blue eyes went wide. He knew he didn't look much like a florist, with his long hair and heavily tattooed arms, the scroll work of ink extending up his neck and across his chest and back in a multitude of patterns and colors. Usually he wore a long sleeved shirt in the shop, but it was hot in the greenhouse and he'd forgotten to put it back on after repotting the geraniums, leaving him standing there in just a tank top and slightly threadbare jeans under the green shop apron. Inwardly bracing himself, he offered the man his "good morning, professor" smile as he awkwardly smoothed down his apron.

"Can I help you?" he asked politely. The man blinked, then blinked again and looked around as if just realizing where he was. Sam waited while several different emotions flitted across the man's face before he apparently came to a decision. He set his jaw, straightened his back, and marched up to the counter. One hand disappeared into the inside of the coat and came out again with a bill which he slapped down on the counter between them.

"How do I passive aggressively say 'Fuck You' in flower?" he asked, the low gravelly tone of his voice almost sounding like a growl. Sam's eyebrows went up.

"Professional, personal, or funeral?" he asked. It was an important distinction to make, after all.

"Uh... what?" the man blinked again, clearly startled by the question. Admittedly, it probably wasn't the response he had expected to get to his request, but Sam had witnessed more than his share of unhappy interpersonal relationships to want to be prepared. This close, Sam could see that his eyes really were that blue, and were also red-rimmed and bloodshot. Sam's sympathy for the man went up a notch or two.

"There are three standard 'Fuck You' arrangements available to choose from in our portfolio at present," he said, keeping his tone as professional and polite as his smile. "There's the 'my boss or coworker is an idiot and an asshole and I have to play nice but fuck you anyway' office bouquet, the 'fuck you and your new fling, you cheating skank' break up bouquet, and the 'thank fuck you're dead and I hope you burn in Hell' funeral arrangement."

The man stared at him for a long moment, then abruptly laughed, a short, bitter bark that almost made Sam wince to hear it. "That last one is closest, but the assbutt is still alive," he said tiredly. "Do you have anything for 'stay away from me you two-faced, cold-hearted bastard and I hope you die in a fire'?"

Sam flinched. He couldn't help it. The words dug into his brain and practically set the scars underneath his tattoos burning all over again. What was worse, the man obviously caught it because he flinched as well, shoulders hunching inwards as his face crumpled like he was expecting to be yelled at or hit, which very nearly made Sam flinch again.

"Sounds like a custom order," he choked out, hoping to forestall the apology he could see the man working up to. It wasn't his fault that Sam had a bit of a trigger over fire-related death, and he couldn't have known about it. Forcing his face to resume smiling, if a bit more tightly than before, he turned to look over the flowers currently taking up the wall behind and beside him. "Your best bet for cold-heartedness is hydrangeas--" The large clusters of four-petalled blossoms stood out easily and he started to reach for the blue ones before changing his mind and plucking up one stem of the pink and white variety and picked up a spare vase to hold it, gathering up a few smaller flowers in white, pink and red. "--and cypress flowers for the death threat with mock orange blossoms for deceit. China pink for aversion and privet for prohibition." He hesitated, then reached for the bucket of white blossoms with thin, dark magenta stripes along the veins. "Fraxinella for fire."

"I'm sorry," the man blurted out. He sounded so miserable that Sam found himself turning around again in concern. The man wasn't crying, but it looked like a near thing from the dejection painting his face. "My people skills are very rusty, I usually don't... Normally I wouldn't mention...."

"Hey," Sam broke in gently. "They wouldn't be out here if there wasn't a call for them." He tried on a smile and managed one that was a little rueful but not nearly so stiff. "Granted, the messages they're usually used for are more benevolent than this, but I can't imagine you would want to wish death on someone who doesn't deserve it."

"He does," the man confirmed. The hands came up to scrub over his face again, and Sam could see them shaking. "I wish I could say otherwise, but he's as evil as the Devil and just as silver-tongued at talking his way out of a life sentence."

"You're not just speaking metaphorically, are you," Sam realized. He glanced down at the flowers he'd already collected, then towards the door to the back room. "Wait here a sec, I'll be right back."

"Okay...?" the man answered, half in question. Sam shot him a quick smile as he set the bouquet down on the counter and hurried through the door.

The flowers he was after weren't usually called for, so they weren't up front with the rest, but now he was glad that he had them in stock. The first ones he grabbed were blood red and fanned open like ragged fingers. The next were spiky stalks of little pink and white blossoms like flowery spears. The last were clusters of small green buds that bore a slight resemblance to pine cones. He carried all three back into the shop and held them up for his customer's inspection.

"Hops for injustice," he explained as he held up the green buds, slipping them in among the fraxinella, and holding up the pink and white spiky stalks. "Tamarisk for 'you are guilty of your crime', and--" He held up the three huge and sprawling red blooms. "--Molten Fire Amaranthus, also known as Love Lies Bleeding, for hopelessness."

"Wow," the man blinked, looking stunned. "Gabriel said you meant it when you said all occasions, but I didn't think you actually meant _every _occasion."

"Gabriel?" It was Sam's turn to blink. The only Gabriel he knew was the short, blonde, sugar addicted owner and master artist at Yggdrasill Ink next door to Spreadin' Roots. Sam was one of the very few people who knew his real first name, though, as he always introduced himself to clients as "Loki".

"My brother," the man said with a sheepish little smile. "I'm sorry, I just assumed you knew him already..." he trailed off, blue eyes drifting down to Sam's still exposed arms. Sam followed his gaze to the riot of black lines and green and white ink that spanned his left forearm. Three huge magnolia blossoms surrounded by eucalyptus and white Heather growing up from between the holes in an intricate trellis that wrapped around his arm from elbow to wrist.

"Assuming you mean the shortstack next door, yes," Sam admitted, glancing fondly at the shared wall. "He and Kali did most of my tattoos, actually. He, uh, never mentioned a brother before...."

"No, I wouldn't expect him to," the man said with a grimace. "He's not disowned or anything, but I think if he could have he'd have disowned himself. I'm just grateful he's still willing to talk to me even though I stayed on speaking terms with our father..."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess you meant to open his shop door instead of mine?" Sam asked gently, smiling reassuringly when the man flushed and looked guilty. "You looked too surprised to see my flowers, is all."

"Oh," the man said. "Yes, sorry... I tried calling him earlier, but he didn't answer his phone... and I didn't know if he would get the same call I received."

"Bad news?" Sam guessed, glancing over the custom arrangement. When the man hesitated, he added, "I know I'm not your brother, but you look like you could use a sympathetic ear or two."

"I don't want to bring up bad memories for you again," the man demurred. Something about the way he said that made the hair on the back of Sam's neck prickle uneasily.

"I'll take my chances," he said, then huffed a small laugh, holding out a hand. "I'm sorry, I think my people skills must be a little rusty, too. I'm Sam."

"I know," the man said, giving him a puzzled look even as he took the offered hand. "Sam Winchester, the hero of Crawford Hall."

Sam stiffened, just barely managing not to grip the man's hand too tightly, and forced a terse laugh. "Gabe been telling you tall tales about me?" he asked.

"No..." the man started, then stopped and looked closer at Sam. Sam looked back uncertainly, not sure what the man was looking  _ for,  _ and apparently finding as he ducked his head. "I didn't realize you hadn't recognized me. I'm Cas. Castiel Engelstrom."

The name sent a twofold shockwave of recognition through Sam. Snapshot memories of a student two years ahead of him with black hair gelled into spikes and heavy black eyeliner framing electric blue eyes passing him in the hallways and on the stairs, catching sight of him talking and laughing with two girls, a redhead and a brunette, snippets of bizarre conversations between the three that flowed out over the rest of the students along with the scents of patchouli and resin, and one dizzying recollection of dry lips that tasted of tequila and lime that Sam had shoved painfully into the back of his mind when the brunette girl had pulled them apart while demanding a turn and Sam had fled.

And then there were the other memories, memories of stifling heat and choking smoke and panicked screaming amid cries for help, red and orange light turning terrified eyes from blue to gray, the wiry body clinging tightly to his back as he carried him and the redheaded girl out of the burning dorm, a flash of bare feet as he set them both down on the grass before racing back in--

"Oh," Sam said faintly. The man -  _ Castiel  _ \- was looking miserable again, like Sam remembering him now was somehow worse than Sam not remembering him before. Sam cleared his throat and tried to smile for him again. "To be fair, I don't think I've ever seen you wear a suit."

"I wore one to graduation," Castiel mumbled. Sam shrugged one shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at the flowers again. He hadn't attended anyone's graduation besides his own, still self-conscious of the healing burns that hadn't yet been written over with ink-filled needles.

"Does your wearing one now have anything to do with the bad news that brought you down here?" he asked, glancing up through his lashes at Castiel as he shifted a few of the blossoms around a bit to get a better balance between the varying shades of white, pink and red. Castiel hesitated, and Sam raised an eyebrow. "I'm not as fragile and delicate as my flowers, Castiel. I can take a little rough handling."

"Duly noted," Castiel mumbled, blushing slightly. Before Sam could wonder too much about the blush, the other man grimaced and took a deep breath. "I'll need to give you a bit of background since specific mention of my family was kept out of the papers when everything happened. Gabriel and I have two older brothers, Michael and Raphael."

"Is there a religious naming convention in your family?" Sam asked, curious about the obviously angelic names and wondering if it had something to do with their surname. Wasn't "Engelstrom" German for "storm of angels"?

"We are all named for the Archangels who supposedly govern the days on which we were born," Castiel said, eyes taking on unhappy shadows again. Sam shut up and let him speak. "When we... lost our mother, Father had to work more hours and eventually travel abroad for weeks at a time to make enough money to support us. Michael was left in charge of us as the oldest, but he struggled without Father's guidance and the rest of us were not always as understanding or cooperative as we could have been. We didn't notice when his... problems began."

Well, that sounded ominous. It also sounded like the beginning of a long story if Sam was reading Castiel right. He hooked the second stool behind the counter with the toe of his boot and dragged it close enough to lift it up and over the counter for the other man to sit down, then as an afterthought he grabbed a bottle of water out of the small refrigerator for him, too. The touch of cold plastic to his hand roused Castiel from the oddly dazed expression and he mumbled a thanks with a shy smile.

"Uh, where was I...?" he asked, twisting the cap off the bottle. Sam waited for him to take a sip and swallow before prompting him.

"Mother gone, father traveling, Michael in charge, problems," he said, keeping it simple as he got the feeling that "problems" was probably way more complicated than he was imagining.

"I should clarify that our mother isn't dead," Castiel said with a grimace. "She may as well be, however. She's violently schizophrenic. Father had her locked away for everyone's safety when I was almost two, but her stipend from her family's estate was a good chunk of our income. With her locked up, the money went to keeping her there and paying for treatment. Father shielded us from her, but with him traveling so much he wasn't around to recognize the signs in Michael.

"He was different, though. Being forced to effectively shove down his own anger and pain and desires and become parent to the rest of us made the schizophrenia develop more along the lines of a split personality. Michael, the good son who took care of his brothers, and then... the other... the darkness in him, all the negative emotions he'd tried to push down..."

"Lucifer," Sam breathed in shock. He remembered that part of the aftermath of the Crawford Hall fire, how the arsonist, Jake Talley, had claimed to anyone who would listen that Lucifer had commanded him to do it. Everyone just passed it off as a psycho blaming the Devil, but if he was drawing the right conclusions.... 

"It took awhile for me to notice," Castiel said quietly, looking down at the water bottle. "Raphael tried to bury his head in the sand about it, so Gabriel was the one running interference when it got really bad. And Michael knew he had a serious problem, but what could he do? Father couldn't stay home and Gabriel and I were still too young to drive, much less do anything else. Michael tried medication to control it, but that forced the split wider. Looking back, I can see how it was a constant battle for him to keep his 'evil twin'--" Castiel made sarcastic air quotes. "--under control. When he turned eighteen, he got access to his trust fund and for a while things were a little easier... but then they got worse. Gabriel even tried to call Father, to tell him what was going on, but he couldn't get a message through and finally he... gave up. Raphael turned eighteen and immediately left for college and medical school, which left Gabriel and I alone as Michael got worse and Lucifer got stronger. He took a knife to Gabriel once, slicing up his back like he was cutting off wings--"

Castiel broke off and gulped down more water. Sam reached out to cover the man's hand with his own, mind whirling. This was definitely worse than he could have imagined, but not for him-- for Castiel and Gabriel! The dark edge that Gabriel's smile held some days had a terrifying new sort of sense to it, as did the way he and Kali both had treated him through two years of sessions to cover the burn scars from the fire. Sam's free hand twitched up towards his shoulders where the worst of the burns were covered with the heaviest swirls of ink before he caught himself and brought the hand down to join his other hand in holding onto Castiel's. It almost felt like if he didn't hold the other man's hand then he might break apart or vanish in a fluttering rustle of that rumpled brown overcoat. It was only because he was so focused on Castiel that Sam caught when the other man began speaking again, forcing the words out in a near whisper.

"Gabriel tried to take me with him when he left, but Lucifer had the Devil's silver tongue and was too good at making authorities see Michael as a better guardian than a just turned eighteen art student," he mumbled, tone bitter. "I don't blame him for leaving, and I don't blame him for telling Father to shove it when he finally did come back and all he did was convince Michael to check himself into a mental hospital. He almost checked me in, too, when he saw how far I had shut down to hide from Lucifer's torments." He huffed a humorless laugh. "Fortunately, even a mindless drone can get perfect grades. I knew Gabriel had graduated art school and bought a tattoo parlor with his girlfriend in California, so when I got the acceptance letter to Stanford it seemed... logical."

"I have to admit I'm having a hard time picturing you as any kind of drone," Sam admitted, when it seemed like Castiel was getting lost in his memories. Startled blue eyes met his and Sam smiled gently. "Well, you have to admit that you were much more, uh, 'free spirit' by the time I met you."

"Yes, well...." Castiel blushed, shrugging awkwardly. "It took a lot of time and therapy for me to  _ find _ that spirit again. I... freshman year, there was an incident... I had a bit of a breakdown and... there were bees...."

And Sam remembered hearing about that, although the details had been vague and rather confused. No one he asked could remember why, or how he'd gotten up or back down without breaking his neck, but they all agreed a student had gone crazy, stripped naked except for the wings and antennae of a bee costume, climbed to the top of the science department building, and tried to jump. Castiel was starting to look miserable again, so Sam figured mentioning it probably wouldn't help. He cast around in his mind for something else to say, anything else that might clear that look from those beautiful eyes....

"I like bees."

Castiel blinked.

Sam flushed. At least the other man wasn't looking miserable anymore, but he could have picked any number of other things to say that weren't so inane. "I mean, obviously, bees are kind of essential to a florist, but I've always liked them. Drives my brother crazy."

"Your brother doesn't like bees?" Castiel asked a little uncertainly. He was starting to smile a little, though, so Sam counted it as a win even as he ducked his head a little sheepishly.

"He'll tell you it's entirely my fault that he doesn't like them if you asked," he admitted. "I don't remember what happened, I was, like, not even crawling, but we were out in the garden and a bee came over to buzz around my head like I was a flower or something. Dean was four and convinced that the bee was going to sting me, so he ran over and swatted it away. It stung him instead, right on the palm of his hand."

"Were you alright?" Castiel asked, eyes wide, which surprised Sam a little. Usually people hearing this story were more concerned about Dean getting stung.

"I was fine, if you don't count bawling my eyes out because Dean started screaming blue murder, or at least that's what Dean claims," he said with a nod. "And Dean was fine, too, after he got some Neosporin and an ice pack, but he's done his level best to avoid bees ever since. Not that I blame him," he added quickly. "I mean, he was four and being stung is no picnic even for an adult, never mind a scared kid trying to protect his baby brother. He just gets so dramatic about it, even years later, that it's occasionally pretty hard not to poke fun at him for it the way he wants."

"He does it on purpose," Castiel said, blinking in realization. Sam grinned a bit sheepishly.

"Totally," he confided. "Usually when he thinks I'm getting too lost in my head or something, so... he tries to get me to loosen up and joke around with him, even if the jokes are at his expense."

"He sounds like a very good brother," Castiel murmured, and the wistful tone to his voice made Sam's chest ache for him.

"The best," he agreed softly. "I mean, he's also a pain in the ass, but he's... he's my rock. And he's a cop now, so I bet he'd know who to talk to about getting a restraining order against Michifer."

"'Michifer'?" Castiel choked, the sound coming out somewhere between amused and appalled.

"Would you prefer 'Lucichael'?" Sam asked with his most innocent expression.

It worked. Castiel just about fell against the counter from laughing, clutching his stomach with one hand as his whole face just about lit up. Sam let him laugh, unable to keep the soft smile off his face at the sight and privately resolving to find some way to get Castiel to laugh and smile more often if he could. He felt his pulse pick up speed at the realization that he was actually hoping to spend more time with Castiel. It was an exhilarating and terrifying prospect.

"Oh, my... I think I needed that," Castiel gasped as the laughter tapered off. "And... if you think it wouldn't be a waste of his time, I would like to talk to your brother about the restraining order, for me and Gabriel. Raphael seems to think he can fix Michael, or help Michael fix himself to keep Lucifer away, but I just... can't, you know?"

"The whole 'once bitten, twice shy' thing, only you and Gabe got bit over and over again," Sam nodded. "You don't have to explain, and you certainly are allowed to take steps to protect yourselves."

"Thank you for that," Castiel said, some of that pained sadness returning. "Raphael doesn't understand how Gabriel and I can't just forgive and forget and let us all be a family again-- his words, not mine. I can't speak for Gabriel, especially not until I actually talk with him about all this, but I think that while, with time, I can probably forgive Michael for what Lucifer did to me, I will never be able to forget, nor do I believe I should."

"Probably not," Sam agreed with a grimace. "I'm no psychologist, but forgetting seems like a good way to make the same mistakes that caused the problems in the first place." His sophomore year history class had certainly made that point over and over. Hopefully Michael or his parole officer understood that, even if Raphael might not, and would take steps to ensure that Lucifer didn't get free to terrorize his brothers again.

"That's pretty much what my therapist said, so you're probably right," Castiel ducked his head, and Sam was startled to realize that the older man was blushing a very soft shade of pink. "Of course, my therapist has been telling me I should talk to y-- to people about, uh, lots of things instead of wallowing in my own anxiety and self-doubt, but..."

"Easier said than done most of the time?" Sam guessed, smiling a little when the pink splash across Castiel's cheeks deepened. Taking a guess based on that aborted statement, he added, "Especially when you don't know where... certain people... ended up after your respective graduations until you literally stumble upon them?"

"Are you psychic as well as an incredibly talented florist?" Castiel muttered.

"According to my brother, the answer to that is a solid maybe," Sam intoned as he smothered the urge to laugh. He didn't want to give Castiel the impression that he was laughing at  _ him _ , though this was far from the first time he'd been accused of psychic powers. Granted, he was pretty sure that Professor Walker had been accusing him of cheating when he demanded to know what kind of psychic powers Sam had that let him get such a high score on his midterm, but even Sam's roommates would back him up that he was always studying instead of going out or partying.

"You and Pamela could start a club," Castiel was saying, bringing Sam back out of his thoughts.

"Pamela?"

"Meg's cousin, Pamela Barnes, runs the Tea'n'Tarot over on Constitution and Fifth," Castiel recited. "She's an incorrigible flirt, too, which I think is where Meg gets it from... though she's toned it down a lot since you rescued me and Anna..."

Sam nodded rather than say anything. Anna must have been the redhead, then, which would make Meg the flirty brunette whose comment had sent Sam fleeing from Castiel's tequila-flavored kiss.

Castiel must have seen something in Sam's face that indicated the direction of his thoughts, or perhaps that incident was what he had been dancing around "needing to talk about", because he winced as he took a deep breath and blurted out, "I'm so sorry for what happened that night and I don't blame you at all for avoiding me afterward, if you were actually avoiding me, I mean, because I shouldn't have just kissed you out of nowhere like that no matter how much it seemed like a brilliant idea at the time--"

"Cas, breathe!" Sam interjected, recognizing the beginning of a nerves-driven babble from all the times Dean had needed to tell Sam the same thing when he got going. Obediently, Castiel took a couple deep breaths, and picked up the bottle of water when Sam nudged it towards him. Sam waited while Castiel took a long drink of the water and swallowed it before he said, "You're right that you kissing me probably shouldn't have happened out of the blue while you were drinking, since that kinda makes it seem like the tequila was responsible for the feelings that motivated it, whatever those feelings might have been at the time."

Castiel nodded, the motion dropping his head lower, and mumbled another apology. Sam, who wasn't actually looking for an apology this time, reached out and touched the other man's hand, giving it a slight tug until Castiel looked up again and met his eyes with a wry smile.

"Tequila-flavored kisses make it difficult to determine if it's safe to kiss  _ back _ ," he said, just a bit pointedly, smiling a little more openly when realization spread across Castiel's face. "I wasn't avoiding you specifically afterwards so much as I was avoiding Meg. You kissing me was... unexpected, but I didn't mind, especially since you didn't push for more than the kiss. Meg made it sound like she wanted to do more than kissing, and that's... that's not..."

"Not something you were comfortable with from a virtual stranger?" Castiel hazarded.

"Something like that," Sam said, grimacing a little. "I'm not... Dean's always been more comfortable with the whole sex thing than I am. Honestly, I probably would have been a lot more freaked out by the random out of nowhere kiss if it hadn't been, well, you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, I...." Sam trailed off and took a deep breath, saying a silent prayer to any god or angels who might listen, and then continued, "I sort of had a 'wistful pining from afar' crush on you back then. I never imagined it would go anywhere until the night you kissed me, but then Meg... and afterwards, I never really found the chance to talk to you alone without her or Anna around and ask, and you didn't seek me out either...."

"My anxiety had managed to convince me that I had completely ruined my chances with you by coming on so strong," Castiel said, the misery from before making a very unwelcome return appearance on his face. "And then you moved in with Jessica...."

"We had similar problems with roommates," Sam said, feeling a bittersweet pang and the memory of his late friend. Jess hadn't made it out of the fire, and that had messed with Sam's head almost more than the burns. "My roommate at the time never did tell me what happened but he came back from Thanksgiving break practically a different person. Meanwhile, Jess's roommate kept trying to steal her stuff and sell it. Since I was pretty much the only person she could stand to be around for more than ten minutes that semester and she reminded me of Dean enough that it was like living with a sister I hadn't known I had, we talked to housing and swapped her roommate for me."

"And that worked for you?"

"Well, her stuff stopped getting stolen, and since neither of us ever brought dates back to the dorm room we got a lot more studying done," Sam said with a shrug. "After the... fire... I didn't have to scramble very much to make up the missed classes, and I know I shouldn't have had to," he added when Castiel opened his mouth, "but one of those classes was Adler's and  _ he _ told me to either complete the course on time or take a zero and re-enroll next semester, and I wasn't going to give that prick the satisfaction."

"Fair enough," Castiel nodded. Professor Zachariah Adler had not endeared himself to any of his scholarship students and very few of his other students despite being a perfectly capable Ethics teacher. "I... this is probably a horrible time to ask this...."

"Hold that thought," Sam interrupted. Whatever it was Castiel was leading up to, he was right that in the middle of what was technically a business transaction was a bad time. He picked up the vase full of custom floral "Fuck You" and carried it over to the register, already mentally calculating the lowest price he could get away with charging that wasn't going to leave him in the hole for the month. "Let me just ring these up for you real quick... no charge for delivery since I can get Dean to do it later."

"Okay?" Castiel blinked, clearly confused, but followed Sam along the counter to the register with his water and the bill he'd originally planted on the surface, blinking again when Sam presented him with a blank white card. "What's this?"

"For you to write a note if you want," Sam explained, already entering the various plants into the system for the label with one hand while he punched in the cost and calculated tax with the other. The price was over twice the original twenty of the bill, but Castiel dug two more twenties out of his wallet without even a wince, his eyes on the little card.

"Do you have a pen?" he asked after a moment.

Sam handed him one of the shop's promotional pens along with his change, then busied himself while the label for the back of the card printed by wandering around the flowers he had out much as he had done earlier. This time, the flowers he was gathering up were a bit different. A single stalk of red gladiolus and three red carnations interspersed with ambrosia and white heather. He eyed the bouquet thoughtfully for a moment, then finished it off with a coil of full-leaved ivy around the outside. A twist of three sturdy rubber bands held it all together, and he carried the finished bouquet back to the counter just as Castiel set down the pen and looked up. "All done?"

"Yes, I think so," Castiel nodded. He still looked entirely too sad for Sam's preference, but there was a lightness about him as if some of the weight had been lifted. It gave Sam hope as the other man's eyes dropped to the new bouquet and his brows pulled together. "What's that?"

"For you, on the house," Sam said with a shy grin that he knew from his brother's teasing made his dimples show. He snagged one of the shop's business cards and scribbled his cell number on the back, then tucked it in between a carnation and a spray of ambrosia before handing over the whole thing to a rather dazed-looking Castiel. "Do you want to know what they mean?"

"Yes," Castiel said, nodding, then shook his head. "But don't tell me. I want... is it weird that I want to figure it out myself?"

"It's not weird at all," Sam assured him, though he was half convinced that he was the wrong person to ask since that was exactly what he would have said. "Call me when you figure it out and we'll get dinner?"

"Okay," Castiel smiled, looking down at the flowers he held then back up at Sam. "I'll do that."

**=End=**


End file.
